Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lillian didn’t say it outright. But Bea caught the way her fingers skimmed the leather door handle, glanced at the crest with the rearing horse on the wheel, and at the bucketed seats that hugged her frame.
“Did I miss something?” Lillian asked. “Are you secretly a billionaire back in Canada?”
Bea huffed a laugh, adjusting her grip on the wheel. “Not quite. It’s one of Gage’s.”
Lillian made a soft, strangled sound. “Of course it is.”
Bea turned on her favorite road-trip playlist. Songs they both knew, so they could talk between verses and sing along without thinking.
The Bloemenhaven Spring Festival was already in full swing when they arrived.
Tulips stretched in perfect, impossible rows—pink, yellow, deep violet, pure white—thousands of them, carefully arranged into winding pathways and archways wrapped in white bunting.
The air smelled of cut grass and damp earth.
Music drifted from somewhere unseen, weaving between the laughter of couples strolling arm in arm.
It was a dream of a place, designed to make people forget about the rest of the world.
They wandered through the festival, passing an interactive scent-blending booth where guests worked with master perfumers to craft bespoke spring fragrances. Nearby, a marquee shimmered with botanical gin cocktails, each glass infused with lavender and crushed juniper.
They paused at an exclusive patisserie tent where Bea bought them both a slice of something with a name she couldn’t pronounce. But it was flaky, custard-filled, and topped with edible silver flakes, so she already knew it would be good.
They found a bench near the fountain, settling in as the festival unfolded around them.
That was where Bea started talking. Not all at once.
But bit by bit. How the night had unfolded.
Gage’s parents. Catherine. Rafael. The extraction.
The fact Gage hadn’t said a single word about it, but that instead of the evening ending with the chauffeured car, he’d driven her home in his.
Lillian didn’t take a bite of her pastry. She listened attentively, making sense of things piece by piece, brown eyes round behind her glasses.
“That’s…” Her voice was barely audible.
Bea was desperate for an objective opinion. “That’s?”
Lillian made a helpless sound, pressing her hands together. “I don’t even know.”
Bea’s laugh was dry. “Yeah. Neither do I.”
The women were quiet, chewing thoughtfully.
“And Gage still hasn’t said anything? About Catherine? Or Rafael?”
“Not a word.”
“Are you going to bring it up?”
Bea exhaled. “I don’t know. I’m not planning to run crying to him about Catherine,” she said. “And I don’t even know if the Rafael thing was a thing.”
Lillian sipped her drink, her gaze slightly pinched, like she was trying to figure out exactly how much trouble her friend was in. Bea couldn’t blame her. She wasn’t sure either.
“Why don’t you want to tell him about Catherine?”
“Because they’re family friends,” Bea answered. “And there are never any witnesses. It’d be like she said, she said.”
“You don’t think he’d believe you?”
“I’m ninety-nine percent sure he would. But I don’t want to put him in that position.”
“The position of defending you?”
“Of choosing. Of getting involved in something…trivial.”
“He might not think it’s trivial.”
Bea sighed. “Maybe you’re right.”
There was another silence.
“I have another question.” Lillian hesitated. “Would you have let Rafael get that close if Catherine hadn’t gotten in your head first?”
Bea blinked. Opened her mouth. Closed it.
She looked down at her hands, fingers twisting her napkin.
She didn’t know how to say it out loud. How small Catherine made her feel. Like she was just a side-quest for the hero, experience points he collected on the way to something bigger. She made Bea question herself. Not just one time. Every time.
And that night, Rafael…hadn’t.
It wasn’t even that he had reassured her. He hadn’t tried to fix anything. He had just been there, been himself. All fire and certainty. And somehow, in that moment, that had been enough.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Partly.” She shrugged. “But what’s funny is…I don’t regret it.”
Lillian’s brow lifted slightly, silent encouragement to go on.
Last night, she’d seen the difference between someone who played games to weaken and confuse her, and someone who played to see what she was made of. To test her blade. And even let her sharpen it on him.
“He’s not…safe,” Bea said carefully. “But in his own way, he’s straightforward. And besides Gage, he might have been the best part of that whole circus.”
Lillian blinked. “That’s…interesting.”
“I know,” Bea said, almost in disbelief. “But that night…he was there. When I needed him.”
Lillian, who had been watching her face closely, nodded. “I don’t think Rafael’s the villain in your story.”
Bea exhaled a short laugh. Maybe not. But he was still dangerous.
Lillian held her gaze this time. Didn’t drop her eyes.
Bea took note of it. Lillian was getting braver.
“You’re getting gutsy, you know that?” Bea shook her head, half smiling. “And considering you’re possibly the only person in this country with less experience with men than me, you’re awfully good at analyzing them.”
Lillian seemed unsure if that was a compliment or a prophecy.
“You watch people long enough, you start to figure them out.”
Bea nodded. “That’s Gage’s philosophy, too. But when he says it, it’s terrifying.”
When she turned back to Lillian, she caught something. A tautness in the way she held herself that was more pronounced than usual.
She pushed aside her own worries and focused on her friend. She turned toward her fully. “Lils? What’s on your mind?”
She waited as Lillian made two attempts to say something, but couldn’t quite get there. On the third try, she finally spoke. “I’m still not used to it. I should be, but I’m not. Being assessed. Bracing myself to be claimed by someone.”
“Does it scare you?” Bea asked quietly.
Lillian nodded. “I’ve never wanted attention. Not like that.”
Bea had seen it firsthand. The guy in their business class who lingered too long at Lillian’s desk, drawing out conversations she could have answered over email.
The senior at the coffee cart who had covered their order without blinking, then steered the conversation toward Lillian, zeroing in like she was the only one there.
Bea had tried to raise it. Tease her, nudge her. But every time, Lillian had stammered, gone pink, and looked so uncomfortable, she had let it go.
But now…she was talking about it like she understood. Like she knew this place wouldn’t let her stay untouched forever.
In the UR, shyness wasn’t a shield. If anything, it was a small delay to the inevitable.
She thought about Georgina, who believed that being desired meant being in control.
All Lillian saw was a hunt. And she didn’t like being the prey.
Bea wasn’t quite sure which one was true.
“Georgie told me there’s no such thing as a powerless woman in this country. Only the ones who don’t know how to use it,” Bea offered.
“I think some of us aren’t sure what we’d do with it if we found it.” Lillian finished the last bite of her pastry.
“I think you’d know,” Bea said. “Maybe not right away, but when it matters.”
“Do you feel like you have power? With Gage, I mean.”
It sounded absurd. Gage King—future CEO, present billionaire, heir to an empire. What power could she possibly have over him?
But then, she thought about it. The way he watched her. Listened. He was controlled, yes, controlling, also yes. But careful. Considerate in his own way. And always, always waiting. Waiting for her.
That, she realized, was its own kind of power. Not the kind that conquered. The kind that compelled.
“I think I do,” she said slowly, her voice softer now. Like she was testing the words, stretching them out to see if they held. “But I wouldn’t say it to him.” A small smile ghosted across her lips, remembering De Wacht Tower. “He’d take it as a challenge.”